


The Witch and the Queen

by Fictionista654



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 08:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: This is the kinkalot entry I'm most proud of :)





	The Witch and the Queen

**Author's Note:**

> This is the kinkalot entry I'm most proud of :)

In the woods there is a witch. She lives in a hut that smells like wet wood and raises a white dragon that smells like ash. In the morning she smokes a pipe she lights in Aithusa’s flame. At night the women come to her. For a price, she’ll mix them anything: a cup of frothy blue intelligence, a thimbleful of light pink youth. She gives them candles that will never burn out, and herbs both to fill and empty their wombs. There’s one thing she won’t do, though. She’ll never make a love potion.

It’s long past midnight when the queen comes to her door, her face shadowed by the hood of her dark robe.

“I thought I told you never to return,” says the witch, stroking her dragon’s scaly head with the sharp tip of a fingernail. The queen looks around the witch’s single room, but hurriedly glances away when her eyes fall on the jar of glistening eyes swirling around in their preserving syrup. 

“I need something else,” says the queen. “What you gave me last time doesn’t work.”

“I broke my rule once,” says the witch. “I won’t do it again. Not even for the queen of Camelot.”

The queen brushes a delicate hand against the witch’s black lace sleeve. “Please, Morgana.” 

“Don’t call me that,” says the witch. Her jaw shakes.

“Morgana, Morgana, Morgana,” whispers the queen, putting her arms around the witch’s waist and drawing her close. The witch’s eyes close and her cracked lips open. The skin beneath her eyes is a bruised yellow-green. The queen smooths them with the pads of her thumbs and presses a kiss to each sharp cheek. A tear tremble’s on the witch’s lashes, and the queen catches it with her tongue. The witch shudders.

“Gwen,” she says. “You can’t seduce me into doing it.”

“One more potion,” says the queen, kissing the swell of the witch’s breasts. “Just one more.” Her sternum. “And when I give him a child, I’ll come back to you.”

“You owe him nothing,” says the witch, but the queen is kissing the curve of the witch’s pelvis, is lifting the witch’s gauzy skirts and running her palms up her inner thighs. The witch doesn’t see the need for underthings, and so she feels the queen’s first lick acutely. It makes her tremble, and she sinks into her rickety kitchen chair. Her head falls back, and the thick tangles of her hair flow over the chair back. She widens her legs and stares up at the water-damaged wooden ceiling and fills her fingers with the queen’s soft curls.

“I love you like this,” says the queen, kissing the heat between the witch’s legs. “You’re so desperate for me that you’ll spread yourself like a whore.” It’s so unfair how the queen still knows which words make the witch wet and wanting. The witch’s grip tightens and she tugs at the queen’s hair. The queen moans against her clit, which makes the witch’s toes curl.

“I…I still…I still won’t do it,” the witch pants, but her vision is white with pleasure. In the corner, her dragon puffs a contented sigh of of smoke. The queen braces her arms on the witches legs and sucks until the witch cries tears of pleasure. She’s almost there, her entire body tensing for the climax, when the queen pulls away. The witch sobs.

The queen sits back on her heels and takes the witch’s red and callused hands into her own soft ones. “Make it for me, Morgana, and I’ll spend the night with you.”

“All right,” says the witch. “I’ll do it.”

“You swear?”

“Gwen, I _swear_.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” says the queen, and leads her love to bed.

***

In the morning, the queen gazes at the crystal cut bottle held in her palms. With a determined breath, she unstops the bottle and downs the burning contents. Tonight, when the king welcomes her into his bed, she will finally want to say yes.


End file.
